


Phone Me

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:16:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4028215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which George and Paul haven't met yet. They're teenagers, and George has basically had enough of it all, but he decides to type in a random number into a phone he wouldn't have had if it was the 60's but he does in this AU. And guess who answers? :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phone Me

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If I owned the Beatles, you would know about it. Seriously :D
> 
> Also, I know that suicide is probably a bad subject to write about, so I'm really, really sorry if anyone finds this offensive or anything. I have no experience in stuff like this, and this just appeared out of basically nowhere at around 1 in the morning, so I really hope it's not seriously terrible. It's not based on reality or anything. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry...

The wind slaps my face as I balance on the edge of the cliff, readying myself to jump, and attempting to prevent the stinging tears from tripping down my face and falling into the crashing sea below. I sigh, letting the howling wind buffet me this way and that, whilst not permitting it to make my decision for me; I won’t allow it to throw me into the waves, though that’s what I’m going to do anyway. What a hypocrite. Part of the reason I’m even entertaining the idea of my imminent demise is just that: I can’t bear myself.   
But then again, the prospect of propelling myself into the turmoil below isn’t an attractive one, and as I stand, wavering this way and that between the conception of death, I attempt to reason with myself. And I give my life one final chance.   
I take out my phone. It’s a crappy Nokia, and used to be my brother’s, but at least I have it, because otherwise I’d be dead already, and it’s the last opportunity I have to rectify mistakes made and walk away from this cliff with my head held high and my life in my hands, because of a decision made by a complete stranger.   
So I tap in a number, any number, the first numbers that come to my head in my dreary state, letting it ring. If someone picks up, I’ll talk to them. And if they don’t, I kill myself here and now, and that’ll be it, and my life will be done, and I’ll be gone. I know it’s not really fair; I’m leaving my fate open to a total outsider, but that’s me I guess.   
‘Hello?’  
I jump at the voice (pretty stupid I know, considering I did just ring someone) before composing myself and muttering a brief hello back, which probably sounds all strangled and broken but I can’t bring myself to care, and wait for the reply.  
‘Sorry, who is this?’   
The person at the other end of the phone is also Liverpudlian, I realise; he has a nice voice, all smooth and soft, and he probably has a good enough life, full of comfort and warm food and family and happiness. The thought makes me cry even more, because if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it, and all my family will be gone and so will home and so will all my chances at doing something right, for once in my life, and now, now I’m crying down the phone and the boy is saying ‘oh god, are you alright, what’s wrong, are you okay? What’s wrong, what’s … where are you?’ and I’m just crying more and more and more and now it’s time, now I’m going to do it, now I’m going to jump, and then I realise that this was a crap idea, and that this boy is going to blame himself for my death and I’m going to jump, jump, jump and he’s going ‘hello?’ and I’m crying, and I’m going to jump and he’s going ‘where are you?’ and I’m crying, crying, and I’m leaning forwards, and he’s going ‘what are you doing and I’ll come find you,’ and now I’ve stopped leaning and I’m not jumping and I’m standing and crying down the phone and this poor boy is talking and I’m choking out, ‘I’m dying,’ and suddenly he’s scared and all ‘WHERE ARE YOU?’ and then, like the idiot I am, I tell him it’s suicide, and he’s stopped and he’s quiet and he’s stopped.  
‘Hello?’ That’s me. I’m almost worried he’s gone to tell someone, but he hasn’t, thank god. That would totally scupper all my plans.   
‘You … y – suicide?’  
I nod, and I’m still crying, but less so now, and I doubt he can hear it. He heaves in a big intake of breath and sighs.  
‘Right. I … well, my name is Paul McCartney and I’m 15, and I don’t know much but I … right. Stop where you are, and don’t do anything just yet, okay? Just wait.’  
‘Don’t go get anyone!’  
‘I won’t, just … I’m just going to – just wait, okay? Wait. There. Don’t … don’t move, or anything. Just wait. I’m coming back.’  
Okay. Okay. So I wait.   
He arrives back in about five minutes, by which point I’ve surprised myself a lot by not just jumping into the sea, but I guess I don’t want to let him down. And he’d beat himself up about it for ages, I can tell. God, I just can’t stop hurting people, can I?  
‘Hello? Hello?’   
He makes me jump once more, Paul, and I choke back a ‘hello,’ in reply. He breathes a sigh of relief and I can feel myself sighing in relief along with him, though I don’t know why.   
‘Thank God. Thank God. I was … I was worried there.’ He supresses a nervous chuckle, before continuing, and I’m content just to listen to him talk. ‘So, I was … you’re depressed, right? Well, you must be, but it’s … don’t do it, okay? It’s not worth it. And, your family? They’d be so sad, and whoever you are, I think the world is better with you in it, and also, don’t kill yourself, because it’s not fair on those who love you, and why is it that you want to die, because it’s a pretty thick thing to do, no offense, and … wait hello?’  
I swallow hard, blinking away the tears.  
‘Hello? No, hello? I didn’t mean it, I just … oh god … I … Hello? Please? Hello? Hello!’   
And I’m going to jump. I’m going to do it.  
‘NO STOP! HELLO, PLEASE, I DIDN’T, PLEASE, PLEASE, WAIT, WAIT, PLEASE WAIT! WAIT!’  
He’s shouting down the phone now, and he’s right, he’s right, he’s so, so right. I am selfish. And I’m going to jump.   
‘Wait, wait, stop, wait! Hello? I’m Paul McCartney and I love Elvis, Buddy Holly, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, I play guitar, I play piano, my dad’s called Jim, me mam’s dead, my brother’s Mike, I love music, I hate school, and I’m going to take the bus from now on, I’m fifteen, year 10, who are you? Tell me about it, I want to know, just stop, stop, don’t … don’t kill yourself, goddammit please don’t … it’s okay, it’ll be okay. Just … tell me.’  
And I don’t know why but maybe it’s because I want to have someone to vent to before I ultimately die, or maybe it’s because he’s so amenable, but either way, I stop and I stop and I stop. And I inhale.  
‘I’m … My name is George.’ The words trip down the phone like broken teeth from a damaged mouth, and I can hear, hear him sigh.   
‘Okay…’  
‘I’m 14, just a year younger than you, and I like to play the guitar as well, though I doubt I’m as good as –’  
‘You’re probably better than me, to be honest. Sorry, carry on.’  
I can’t help but smile at his egocentricity. ‘How did you know I was going to say as good as you?’  
‘I didn’t. Sorry.’ He laughs. ‘But I didn’t think you were going to say ‘as good as Elvis’ in any case.’  
I sigh, and attempt a watery smile, swiping away the remaining moisture around my eyes, step an inch away from the cliff.   
‘So, George? Where … I can come up and get you if you want? Just, where are you?’   
‘Near Merseyside, I think. I’m … sorry, to bother you.’ I supress a hiccup, turning entirely away from the cliff now, and walking away from it, phone still pressed to my ear, hands still shaking, voice still wobbling, but no longer about to kill myself for a reason I don’t now understand. ‘I can … I can make it home by myself, I swear. You don’t have to come out, honestly.’  
‘Naw, I’m nearly there. I live really close. Just wait.’   
‘Ok. Thanks.’  
And I wait.   
And I wait.  
And I wait.


End file.
